


Quarter Mile

by TriDom



Series: The Qualities of being Neighborly [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Lots of car talk, M/M, Pre-Stetopher, a lot of flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-19
Updated: 2017-04-19
Packaged: 2018-10-21 03:22:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10676649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TriDom/pseuds/TriDom
Summary: It isn't long after Stiles's comes home to Beacon Hills after a year away, that he makes it a point to go to the Midnight Drag Races. He's there to settle a grudge match with Derek Hale, meeting his uncles is just a massive perk.





	Quarter Mile

The smell of burning rubber, gasoline, and exhaust fumes surrounded Stiles. The flood lights above the stands and the track were clouded with smoke against the dark sky. It was almost one in the morning, his ass was going numb on the cold bleachers, his breath was fogging the air, his ears were ringing from the noise, and his heart was racing. There still wasn’t anywhere else he’d rather be on a Saturday night.

In the staging lanes, a Camaro was heating its drag radials. Large pools of smoke poured from the rubber as the driver warmed them on the tarmac. Stiles couldn't hear himself think over the nose of its open exhaust. His ears would still be ringing on the way home, like they always used to when he brought his old WRX and thought it was the fastest thing in the world.

"That Corvette is about to get stomped," Parrish leaned over and yelled in his ear. Stiles could still barely hear him. 

A C6 Corvette was in the lane closest to them. It was on street tires. The driver still revved its engine and did a small burnout, but it didn't really serve a purpose. Street tires didn’t need to get warm, they didn’t need to get sticky. It was just expensive to burn them off like that. It still sounded decent. Then the drivers pulled slowly to the line, the triple tree going orange as they met the right mark, yellow, both drivers loaded up the car's suspensions, their exhaust taking away Stiles's hearing again before the light turned green and they were both gone. 

The Camaro pulled away quickly, leaving the Corvette to try and reel it in. Stiles watched the large boards on either side of the drag strip at the end. The yellow numbers lit up against the dark sky. 11.2 seconds for the Camaro. 13.4 for the Corvette. 

"They both need a driver mod," Parrish said. 

"Badly,” Stiles said.

When they used to come out here it was Parrish, Scott, sometimes Whitmore, and Danny. Now Jackson was in another state. Danny was married and staying at home with kids at past midnight. Stiles thought Scott was still in town, but he hadn’t heard from him since he moved back to town a handful of months ago from the coast.

Stiles looked back down the lane as another car started to warm its tires. A black GT500 was in the far lane. The back of the car was jacked up with fat drag slicks that had to be coating the rear fenders with tar. The lights hit the paint at a strange angle. It took Stiles a moment to realize it had a large matte black stripe up the center of its hood. 

A white car turned the corner and pulled into the lane closest to them. Stiles heard Jordan curse under his breath. He didn't blame him. He’d been away for a year and hadn’t come to the track in almost two, but he doubted very seriously that GT-Rs had become a common occurrence during that time. It wasn't Godzilla’s natural environment. The GT-R would be a lot more at home on Hallet, the winding racetrack outside of town, than on a quarter mile drag strip. 

"Bye, GT-R," Stiles said in the lull of relative quiet after the Mustang had finished warming its tires. He could still hear it lopping. The burble of a large camshaft was so unsteady it almost sounded like the big V8 would die. Even from where he sat, he could hear the quiet whistle of the supercharger. A noise that went straight down to his dick whether he liked it or not. 

"I've seen it at the racetrack. It's a monster." 

"I'm sure, in corners," Stiles said. 

He watched the lights go down then the cars launched. Both drivers had good take offs. The GT-R was in front for a fraction of a second as the Mustang fought for traction, then it started to reel the Nissan in until it flew by it. Stiles watched the giant scoreboards at the end of the run. 

Mustang 9.2. 

GT-R 10.5. 

"Wow." 

"I didn't expect it do that well," Jordan said as he pulled his phone out of his pocket. "Derek's here." 

"Cool," Stiles said, standing up and wedging their way between a few other peoples' legs until they reached the main aisle. 

Stiles jogged down the steps, his footsteps clanging hollowly on the aluminum stands with Parrish behind him. Behind the stands was a large cracked parking lot. Cars of all different makes and models were parked beside each other. Parrish went with him to the short line of Subarus, most of them WRXs, but a few STIs, and Foresters. They were dwarfed by the amount of domestics surrounding them, Mustangs, Camaros, Corvettes, Challengers, and Chargers of all years and conditions were lined up. A lot of people stood around, leaning on hoods or against fenders as they talked to their friends with the background noise of another pair of cars ripping down the track behind them. 

Derek was parked beside Stiles's Subaru, already leaning against the hood of his own car. The Camaro’s black paint was sleek and perfect beneath flood lights, not a swirl mark in sight, but then again it shouldn't be. Derek had the money to have the car's paint professionally corrected and cleaned whenever he wanted. It didn't change the fact that it was a manual and Derek couldn't drive for shit. 

"About time you show up," Parrish said, taking Derek's hand and pulling it toward his chest. 

If they were normal guys, Stiles would've expected a bro slap on the back, but instead they kissed, tongue in mouth, with Derek grabbing a handful of Jordan's ass. 

"Great. If you guys could not make me puke, that would be fantastic," Stiles said. 

"You're just pissed we don't include you," Derek said. 

"We will. Come here, Stiles," Parrish said, holding out his arm. Derek slapped it down. 

"I'd take you up on it, but I really don't want Derek's herpes," Stiles said, frowning at Derek. His eyebrows only drew closer together. He had to be different in private. That's the only way Stiles could see that sourpuss keeping someone like Parrish that was on all the time, always a good time to hang out with. If he was ten years older, Stiles might would be trying to steal him out from under Derek, but he was too cute. Too much like himself.

"Are we going to get in line or not?" Derek asked. 

"Oh now I'm the only putting it off?" Stiles asked. "You're an hour late." 

"Some of us have jobs." 

"All of us have jobs?" Stiles said. 

Derek rolled his eyes, but went to get in his car. 

"Does he beat you at home?" Stiles asked. 

"Shut up," Parrish said, pushing Stiles before he got in Derek's passenger seat. 

Stiles slid behind the wheel of his STI. He rolled down his darkly tinted windows and drove around the large cluster of cars until they reached the staging lanes, where pairs of cars were lined up, waiting for their chance to go down the track. People milled between the cars with the lines moving slowly. When the intercom called for a broken axle, and a car to be pulled off the track, Stiles killed his car and leaned against it. People were already lining up behind them. The Corvette and Camaro he'd seen race first were a few cars a head. There was a Trans Am and a Honda Civic behind him and Derek. Then he watched as the white GT-R pulled in behind the Civic and the same black GT500 pulled up behind the Trans Am. He thought the little Pontiac was loud until the Mustang was behind it. He could feel the vibration in the ground. Through the windshield, he could see that the Mustang had been fitted with a rollcage and a four-point harness. 

He watched at the drivers of both cars got out and immediately looked away as he walked around his car to stand with Derek and Parrish. 

"Those are my neighbors," he said. 

Derek looked back and frowned. "They're my uncles." 

Stiles stared for a moment before he heard Derek's name called behind them. Derek looked up and raised his hand. The lighter-haired guy with the white straight smile, who always waved at Stiles when he got the mail, came up between the other pair of cars. 

"I didn't know you were coming tonight," the man said. 

"I didn't tell you," Derek said. 

"Rude," the man said. Then the second guy was there, the one who edged the yard across from his dad's meticulously. He sometimes mowed twice a week. His anal lawn keeping entertained Stiles occasionally since he'd moved back. Watching him use a weed eater with a tank top was higher on the list. For a guy his age, he was ripped. When he saw Stiles, he smiled. 

"You're John's son," he said before he held out his hand. "Chris. We live across the road." 

"Yeah," Stiles said, before he shook his head. "Yeah, I'm Stiles. Nice to meet you." 

"Oh, you're the boy the sheriff never shuts up about," the other man said. 

"Sorry about that," Stiles said, smiling as he held out his hand. 

"Peter," he said. "He's a proud daddy. I can see why." 

"Don't," Derek said, staring at Peter as Stiles felt his face get hot. 

Chris elbowed Peter slightly before he looked at Stiles's car. "I've seen this in the driveway. I kept meaning to come talk cars, but anytime you were out cleaning it I was headed somewhere else." 

"Yeah, I had no idea that you were hiding those things in your garage," Stiles said, laughing slightly. “They’re insane.”

"Can't drive those every day. Have to keep the boys off us," Chris said. He winked and Stiles nearly choked on his own spit. Chris couldn't have seen, he was already walking around Stiles's car. "Nice. I always loved these. Never owned one." 

"I really like it."

“How long have you had it?”

“A little over a year. I bought it when I was in Mississippi.”  

"What's done to it?" Chris asked. 

Stiles listed his modifications and told Chris the horsepower and torque numbers it had made the last time he put it on a dyno machine. It was stupid and irresponsible, but he had a pretty good job, low rent, thanks to his dad, and no urge to move out after being away for over a year, so his car is where he dumped his money. 

"That's nice. Have you built the motor yet?" 

"Not yet. I probably will this fall if Dad doesn't kick me out for buying car parts." 

Peter snorted. "His prodigal son? I highly doubt it." 

Stiles laughed, feeling his cheeks warm a little more. He knew his dad had missed him. The money working on oil rigs had been good, but not good enough. He missed having a life. Even when he was off work, he had to stay near the coast and for whatever reason his dad hadn't wanted to move. Stiles couldn't really blame him. It had taken a long time to become sheriff. People knew him and trusted him. It was home. 

Then Chris looked up and nudged Peter.

“We need to move the cars up.”

Peter and Chris walked back to their cars and Stiles got into his own, moving up the three car lengths that had opened while they were talking. Everyone else was moving slowly too though. That’s what he loved about The Midnights though, no one was in a hurry until they were actually on the track.

When he killed his car, he wondered if he should get back out. He was on the fence for all of ten seconds until he saw Chris and Peter get out of their cars and walk back toward his.

“Have you ever taken this to the dirt track?” Peter asked as he came up behind his car and touched the spoiler.

“Have you ever taken _yours_ to the dirt track?” Stiles asked.

“No, but mine isn’t called _world rally cross,_ either,” Peter said, the corner of his mouth turning up. He had the most ridiculously blue eyes. He hadn’t really paid attention after seeing Chris’s that were lighter, but Peter’s were stupid in a different way, dark with all different shades.

“Well fine then, I’m a pussy and I don’t want to run my baby into a tree,” Stiles said.

“Valid,” Peter said.

“What do you do, Stiles?” Chris asked.

“I just got on with Kaiser-Francis a few months ago. It’s cool. I get to work on dry ground so that’s pretty sweet.”

“Ah, that’s right. I remember John telling me about you working in the Gulf.”

“Yeah. I wasn’t crazy about it. I really don’t like the ocean.”

“That’s not the ocean, it’s the Gulf and no one likes it,” Peter said.

“I see where Derek gets it,” Stiles said.

Chris laughed and Peter smiled a little more.

A few times they disbursed and moved their cars up the line, but each time, they grouped back together with Jordan and Derek staying to themselves like the gross couple they were. Stiles didn't really mind. He was glad his high school buddy had found a decent guy, even if Derek had been a few years older than them and a complete asshole in school. At least he seemed to treat Parrish nice. 

Not to mention, it left Chris and Peter with him, which he was perfectly fine with. 

"Parrish said he'd seen your car out at the track before," Stiles said, after the third time they moved their vehicles and he had gone back to look at their cars. The inside of the GT-R looked like a space ship. Peter let him sit in it and mess with the paddle shifters while he talked to Chris about how he wanted to improve his reaction times. 

"It does a lot better out there," Peter said. "Have you taken your Subaru?" 

"Not yet. I want to." 

"We can text you next time we go?" Peter offered. "It's intoxicating." 

"Yeah?" Stiles asked. "Sure," he said, pulling out his phone and programming in Peter's number when he gave it to him. Then programming in Chris's. "You don't take the GT500 out there do you?" 

"I have," Chris said. "It's not pretty, but it's fun. She's my straight line beauty queen." he said, smiling a smile that made Stiles's stomach flip in a way it hadn't in a long time. He had gray in his stubble. It was like Stiles's kryptonite. 

"It's like a pig in mud," Peter said. 

"She can hear you," Chris said. 

"You called mine a soulless  _machine_ earlier. She loves you, Chris, how could you?" 

Chris snorted before squeezing the side of Peter's neck and kissing his cheek. 

By the time they were close to the front of the line, the cars were moving faster. Stiles buckled up as he and Derek pulled into the second up slots. He watched the lights drop for the cars in front of them and watched them launch before edging up. His car was loud. He loved the way it rumbled his seat, how he could feel the vibration of the motor in his palm as he put it into the gear and pulled forward, being unnecessarily loud, because this is the place he could be. Beside him, he heard Derek's car rev and bounce off the rev limiter. 

They edged up until the lights turned orange on the tree. Stiles loaded up his exhaust, something Derek couldn't, or shouldn't do, with his rear wheel drive car. Stiles heard him doing it anyway. When the light dropped green, Stiles launched hard, his car winding through first and second gears in less than two second before he was in third gear. He could see Derek in his rear view mirror. He was gaining, but he'd had a bad take off and Stiles had all wheel drive. Derek's Camaro was at his quarter panel when they reached the finish. 

When they pulled to the end of the track, someone chalked his quarter window with 12.2. He watched them write 12.5 on Derek's and stuck his tongue out at him. Derek flipped him off. At the other end of the track, Stiles heard what could only be Chris's Mustang warming its drag slicks. 

He and Derek pulled into the lot again. Stiles listened to his turbo charger cooling as he leaned against the front of his car. He patted the hood as Derek got out of his Camaro. 

"Oh no. Four cylinders beat eight. Don't go sell it for an automatic, Derek, whatever you do, you shouldn't do that," Stiles said. 

"You got lucky." 

"Dude, I've got like $3,000 in mods in this thing. You've got an exhaust. That's it. Lighten up," Stiles said. 

"I'm going to get a tune." 

"Yeah you probably should, because that was embarrassing. The other Camaros aren't going to talk to you now." 

"I will tell my uncles you have crabs." 

"But I don't. They can search me if they want." 

Derek wrinkled his nose. Then Parrish came from the direction of the stands. He hugged Derek when he got close enough. 

"It was close," Parrish said. 

Derek grumbled something about a false start. Stiles snorted. 

Then he saw Chris and Peter's cars come around the corner from getting their time slips. Both of their old times had been wiped off and new ones chalked on their darkly tinted windows. Mustang 9.2. GT-R 10.3. When they parked beside them, Chris got out and pulled off his racing helmet. He slapped Peter on the back before squeezing his shoulder. 

"You're going to need a rollcage if you keep that up," he said. 

"No thank you. Her interior is beautiful the way it is. I'll just drive worse," Peter said. 

Chris laughed before kissing his hair. They were so handsome it made Stiles's stomach feel weird. Then Chris pulled away and looked at their group. 

"Do you guys want to go get something to eat?" 

"No. Me and Jordan are going to go home," Derek said. 

Then he looked at Stiles and raised his eyebrow, "Want to go get coffee?" 

"Does that include pancakes?" 

Chris smiled. "It can if you want it to." 

"Sure, let's go get pancakes," Stiles said, smiling and not really worried about the blush creeping up his face or the way he instinctively looked away, shy, because he was. He'd been told it was cute and he wasn't above a little manipulation to get what he wanted. 

**Author's Note:**

> I made a tumblr post for my completely self indulgent fic here, [Quarter Mile](http://tridom.tumblr.com/post/159769733254/quarter-mile-cars). It has pictures of all of the cars in the fic. If this wasn't clue enough, I absolutely adore cars, so this will probably be a series. :)


End file.
